


Fair Exchange

by Rubynye



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Bondage, Gunplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto has something John needs. Jack mediates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fair Exchange

Title: Fair Exchange  
Fandom: Torchwood  
Characters: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones/John Hart  
One requested story element: Ianto gets ahold of an alien device John wants, by any means necessary  
No real spoilers beyond the existence of Captain John Hart.  
As ever, these characters and their settings don't belong to me.

 

"On your knees, Hart," catches Jack's attention, not least because he's not the one saying it. He glances across the dark, quiet Hub, following Ianto's hard-edged voice. "Just how much do you want it?"

"Playing rough, Eye Candy?" John's over in the corner in front of Ianto, between some equipment racks and the wall, down on his knees indeed. Jack could laugh at that, watching John's fists tremble at his sides, the gleam of light down the barrel of Ianto's gun. He could laugh as he paces over quietly, watching John bristle and Ianto breathe, wondering where on his person Ianto has concealed the Cassalonian Lockpick John must want oh-so-badly.

Instead of laughing Jack calls, "Oh, Ianto," knowing the gun won't waver even if Ianto's gaze flickers, "that's not the way to do it." He strolls up to their little tableau, presses his hand hard on John's head and murmurs, "hello, sweetness."

"Evening, Lover," John growls through gritted teeth, tilting his head back as far as Jack lets him; this close Jack notices he's missing a few little accoutrements, such as his favorite guns and the hollow bicuspid smuggler-box, not to mention most of his calm. Realizing just how badly John must need that infallible lockpick makes Jack smile at him. It's probably even less pleasant of a smile than it feels like, considering the way Ianto's eyes flare wide.

"First things first." Jack digs his fingertips through John's short spiky hair as he kneels behind him, fishing out what he needs from a pocket. Blessed greatcoat. "Give me your hands."

John snorts but obeys, hands stacked behind his back, palms upwards. "A little snip of string's supposed to hold me?"

Jack winds the white cotton cord around the bases of John's thumbs, tying them off, then wraps the remaining length a few times around John's wrists. "Nah," he says as he works. "It just makes you look pretty." Pulling it just tightly enough to press into the translucent, blue-veined skin of John's wrists, Jack weaves an elaborate knot as he slides a leg forward between John's. "So, what are you planning to do?"

Ianto holds his gun steady and presses his lips together, expressionless except for his glittering eyes. John settles onto Jack's leg, skintight leather sliding over Jack's wool slacks. "Oh, anything," John answers carelessly, tossing his head back to glance over his shoulder, cheek creased with a smirk.

"I mean, with the device." Jack leans forward into John's hard warm back, looking past him up to Ianto, whose eyebrows are slanting down into a glare that heats Jack up nicely. John flicks his fingertips against Jack's belly until Jack curls the fingers of one hand into the cord, holding John's hands still.

"Just retrieve a few items, nothing that's not mine." John tips his head forward a bit. "Do you approve, Tea Boy?"

"Of the original owners recovering their property." Ianto's smirk is as hard as John's now; it's a good look on him, but Jack briefly remembers how Ianto used to lose his smile when his expression hardened.

He also remembers the disarmingly soft skin over John's shoulderblades when John rolls his jacket-armored shoulders, pressing back into Jack's chest. "_My_ property's at the impound. Unfairly."

"And I care, why?" Ianto shifts his aim down a little, covering John's mouth rather than his forehead.

Jack wonders if that's intentional. "Twenty-four hours," he says into the shell of John's ear, and resists licking it. It's not quite that kind of party. "Not a millisecond more, and I don't want to hear about any mysteriously opened bank vaults."

John heaves an exasperated sigh. "You're no fun anymore."

"Python gets you nowhere." Jack tugs the cord a little tighter, setting his free hand on John's leather-sleek hip. "What do you say, Hart?"

"Yes, sir, may I please have another?" John's eyes flick upwards. "Or is that Pretty Boy here's line?"

"He doesn't have to ask." Jack slides his hand up John's belly and chest, fingers remembering the architecture of muscle and bone, up John's throat and over his chin. John bites Jack's index finger, but it's just a playful nip, a bright-sweet burst of pain; he sucks the wounded finger into his mouth, wet heat and a swirl of tongue almost distracting enough.

Almost. Jack pulls his hand away, sweeping his thumb across John's lips. He can't feel any booby-trapped lip gloss this time, but he licks his thumb to be sure. "Is it a deal?"

"Yes, Jack," John singsongs. "Whatever you say."

"More like whatever Ianto says." Jack grins up at him. "He's the one with custody of the device. What do you think, Jones?"

Ianto parts his lips, but all that emerges is a small choked sound, as John leans forward and demonstrates technique on the gun, mouthing far up enough to lick Ianto's knuckles. John's always been a little crazy.

Ianto recovers soon enough, tugging the gun free of John's mouth with a wet slurping sound that makes Jack throb with memory and want. "Try something with nerve endings," Ianto says coolly, deep voice impressively close to calm; Jack smiles up over John's shoulder, watching Ianto's mouth set and his eyes go round when John responds with a snort and his teeth on Ianto's fly, unbuttoning Ianto's slacks just as smoothly as Jack taught him so long ago. Jack could almost turn his head and kiss praise into John's neck; instead he tugs the cord tight again, John's fingers scrabbling against his palm.

Ianto's eyes are as wide as Jack's ever seen them, but he stands his ground, one hand flat on the wall, gun pressed to his thigh. John grunts, undoing button after button, and that familiar musky male scent starts to fill the air. "Careful," Jack murmurs, "wouldn't want you to swallow one."

John laughs, tipping his head back to knock Jack's jaw. "Thought you'd be more worried I'll bite Eye Candy."

Jack squeezes John's jaw in turn, then reaches out to pull Ianto's cock free, stroking it gently, saying hello. Whatever the look in his eyes, he's definitely and fully hard. "No, I don't think you will," Jack says, his thigh pressed between John's legs and his chest against John's back, rocking him forward, watching Ianto stare down at them. "He tastes too good to rush, he's got a loaded gun at your head, and he's _my_ Eye Candy."

John's laugh is muffled as he sucks Ianto down, no preamble, no pretense. He always looks so very good on his knees. His cheekbones are even more prominent with his head tipped back, the arch of his neck continues smoothly down his spine, his hips rock a little in tempo with his mouth. He smells heady even aside of the pheromones, and combined with Ianto's scent it's as intense as if there's a forcefield bubble around their little corner. Jack presses his hand flat over John's thudding heart, every little thrust of John's hips pushing his leather-wrapped arse against Jack's aching cock as they unblinkingly watch Ianto.

Ianto's not quite as unblinking, though when his eyes are open they're very, very wide; when John swallows around him his eyelids flicker and his lips shift just a tiny bit, the half-inch gap between them never wavering more than a millimeter. Jack hasn't tired yet of seeing Ianto completely and impeccably dressed with sweat sheening his forehead and his eyes wide and faintly stunned with lust, and he watches every flicker of those eyes, pressing his lips to the buzzed-short nape of John's neck.

Ianto's lips part wider as John sucks and bounces harder, and Jack grits his teeth against John's writhing, tilting his head to listen. But Ianto just smirks, flushed to his ears, shutting his eyes tightly as he starts to come, almost silently. Jack watches John swallow, his eyes half-closed in concentration, his tongue curling wetly along Ianto's cock as he pulls off. "Mm," he says, tipping his head back onto Jack's shoulder. "Too nice a job to rush."

"Told you," Jack says as John lolls towards him, and kisses him, tasting Ianto on his tongue, listening to Ianto's ragged breathing above them. Jack pulls back, smudging his thumb across the damp corner of John's mouth, and John rolls his eyes and lazily lifts his head.

Ianto is already buttoned up, looking completely calm and unruffled except for his still-damp brow and persistent flush, and no longer leaning against the wall. Jack tugs the cord free and watches John uncoil upwards, fingertips barely skimming the floor; he unfurls his hands with one sharp motion, and Ianto's gun tilts upwards, though still held by his side.

Ianto's other hand is up and open, the Cassalonian Lockpick glittering on his palm. John reaches for it and Ianto tosses it a little, right into his catch. "Thanks, dearie," John says with a bow, and Ianto takes another step back to give him room. With an airy, "'Ta" and a backwards flick of his fingertips against Jack's cheek, John strides off, only a little stiff-legged.

Jack gets to his feet and waits. Ianto keeps his eyes on a nearby monitor as they listen to John's footsteps and to the lift whirr. After twenty more seconds of silence, Jack glances over, reaches out and drags his fingers across Ianto's damp brow. "So, what'd you give him?"

"The actual item." Ianto types a line into the computer as if he didn't feel Jack touch him, then straightens. At Jack's interrogative 'mm?' he explains, "it seemed only fair."

"Huh," Jack says. Ianto's still holding the gun, now pointed at the floor. Jack skims his eyes up Ianto, slowly, and finds that same suppressed expression on his face, quiet mouth and round eyes. Ianto's other hand is a fist, and Jack waits for it, whether Ianto will punch him for this, whatever he might find to say.

Ianto kisses him like a punch, so hard he tastes blood, and pulls back panting. His lip is bruised, his smile wild, and Jack grins, catches Ianto's face between his hands, and kisses him back.


End file.
